Alone are the ones of myself who fly again
By memory i envy you all

I cannot go to places
Where i was happy
Or places where i could be

There is no direction
The streets are empty - of dust and sea
And a boat is never near or far - or close to me
And i am magically not the sea
Not the wind but nothing that can be

I envy you all

I envy all of you who come back to me
Memory of a rock, sand or tree